award season
time to get back in the habit of this blogging thing again.
very unlike myself, I watched both the Grammys and the BAFTAs last night. Can I just say, BAFTAs? Meh. Such a let down. I hate award seasons when you know exactly who's going to win, what they're going to say when they get to the podium, and which clips they'll flash and music they'll play before and after they get there. It probably would help quite a lot if I didn't have such latent hostility towards "Atonement"* or actually had seen "No Country for Old Men" or "There Will Be Blood" but I refuse to suffer through them just to make my award show viewing more palatable.
But the Grammys. Was that ever just a big bowl of crazy? From Amy Winehouse's I-Have-To-Pee Post Rehab Shuffle Dance to the feather duster lacquered to Rihanna, to the insane pairing of Kid Rock with Keely Smith, to Carrie Underwood's curiously expressionless face (Botox?), to the bizarre tributes to Gershwin with a clearly addled Lan-Lan, to the unexpected win of Herbie Hancock, to the reemergence of 69-year-old Tina Turner, who's face has aged but who's body hasn't... it's a wonder I don't make a habit of watching the show. But from the "WTF Are They Doing Now... Is That a Set Piece or a Person?" point of view, it's all good. Can't wait til next year.
*Look, I read the book. It's a nice book, with many pretty turns of phrase throughout. But it drags. And drags. And drags. And SPOILER ALERT all the prettiness is a pack of lies anyway. The whole thing is so forced - like paper cut outs to illustrate a philosophical debate. I suppose I am just part of the backlash. To my credit, I hear a commercial about how this movie is the most wonderful, moving, spiritual experience you can ever have or ever hope to have Every. Five. Minutes. So I think that excuses quite a bit.
very unlike myself, I watched both the Grammys and the BAFTAs last night. Can I just say, BAFTAs? Meh. Such a let down. I hate award seasons when you know exactly who's going to win, what they're going to say when they get to the podium, and which clips they'll flash and music they'll play before and after they get there. It probably would help quite a lot if I didn't have such latent hostility towards "Atonement"* or actually had seen "No Country for Old Men" or "There Will Be Blood" but I refuse to suffer through them just to make my award show viewing more palatable.
But the Grammys. Was that ever just a big bowl of crazy? From Amy Winehouse's I-Have-To-Pee Post Rehab Shuffle Dance to the feather duster lacquered to Rihanna, to the insane pairing of Kid Rock with Keely Smith, to Carrie Underwood's curiously expressionless face (Botox?), to the bizarre tributes to Gershwin with a clearly addled Lan-Lan, to the unexpected win of Herbie Hancock, to the reemergence of 69-year-old Tina Turner, who's face has aged but who's body hasn't... it's a wonder I don't make a habit of watching the show. But from the "WTF Are They Doing Now... Is That a Set Piece or a Person?" point of view, it's all good. Can't wait til next year.
*Look, I read the book. It's a nice book, with many pretty turns of phrase throughout. But it drags. And drags. And drags. And SPOILER ALERT all the prettiness is a pack of lies anyway. The whole thing is so forced - like paper cut outs to illustrate a philosophical debate. I suppose I am just part of the backlash. To my credit, I hear a commercial about how this movie is the most wonderful, moving, spiritual experience you can ever have or ever hope to have Every. Five. Minutes. So I think that excuses quite a bit.
Labels: pop culture